Page 10 of The Misfits of Copper County
But no.
“Or you could simply do what I tell you,” he shot back. “In fact, I came here today to tell you exactly that. If you can’t accept that I’m in charge, Brewer, then I’ll need to find a contractor who can.”
Against my will, his words brought me back to a different time, a different conversation.
I didn’t ask for your opinion on the deal because I didn’t have to, son. If you can’t accept that I’m in charge, go be your own boss. See how easy it is when you’re the one making the tough calls.
I’d taken my father at his word that day. I’d walked out of his office and out of his life. And I was a better man for it.
My grandfather’s integrity had made our family business what it was, as much as his skill with historical renovations and community projects. But under my father’s leadership, it had become something I barely recognized anymore. The “Claybourne deal”—such a clean, polite way to say “stabbing your son in the back”—had been the final straw.
But my father had been right about one thing: it wasn’t easy being in charge.
This time, I wasn’t walking away. I’d built a reputation—a perfect record of satisfied clients and beautiful renovations—and I wasn’t going to let one ridiculous, unreasonable man ruin it.
My frustration crystallized into something harder and colder.
If Delaney wanted to be in charge so badly, I’d give him exactly what he wanted. No more suggestions. No more expertise. No more guidance. Just complete, unquestioning compliance.
Let him see how that worked out.
“You know what, Delaney? You’re absolutely right.” My voice was calm, almost pleasant, though my hands had balled into fists. “From now on, we’ll do things your way. You’re the boss.”
He scowled for a second like he was about to argue with this, too. But his eyes caught on something behind me, and his anger morphed into wide-eyed blankness.
“B-brewer.” Delaney’s fingers clutched my elbow, the unexpected contact sending a jolt of awareness through me. “Behind you.”
Frowning, I glanced over my shoulder… only to find my Newfoundland sitting there looking really fucking proud of herself.
“Teeny.” I shook my head disapprovingly, but I couldn’t keep the fondness out of my voice. “What have I told you about opening the camper door on your own?”
Teeny ignored me and instead trotted toward us, tongue lolling, ready to greet our visitor.
“Stop!” Delaney shouted, backing up a step with both his hands outstretched. “Stop right there.”
I faced him again, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. The man who’d gone toe-to-toe with me was gone, and suddenly, he was the guy who’d flooded his living room again. A man whose fundamental understanding of the universe seemed to have been upended.
“Calm down,” I told him. I reached for his hand, but he took another step away. “Delaney?—”
But I’d bet any amount of money Delaney couldn’t even hear me. He was staring at my sweet dog like she was a monster ready for attack… rather than a slightly disobedient sweetheart with an inconvenient knack for opening doors.
For the record, I hadn’t taught Teeny that party trick. I was pretty sure she’d learned it when her previous owners, a hard-of-hearing elderly couple I’d done work for years ago, kept forgetting to let her out of the house to do her business. But like me, Teeny hadn’t forgotten the things she’d learned when she was young.
Realizing I couldn’t get through to Delaney, I made a grab for Teeny instead, but she scurried away from me like we were playing her favorite keep-away game. She made a beeline for Delaney…
And stuck her head in his crotch.
Delaney leapt backward like an acrobat. “No!Shoo.”
“Teeny,” I groaned. “Sit.” I grabbed her collar, ignoring her mournful whine. “Delaney, it’s okay. She’s not dangerous.”
But once again, Delaney wasn’t listening. With both eyes fixed on Teeny and his hands clasped protectively over his crotch, he continued backing away?—
“Delaney,stop!” I shouted, letting go of the dog and moving toward him as I realized a second too late what was right behind him.
But it was definitely too late.
Delaney’s foot caught on a rock, and he stumbled, crashing backward into the support pole that held up my makeshift awning. The tension lines that held it to the pole snapped free with a metallic twang, and before either of us could move, the canvas dropped on top of us…
